


Monkey Wrench

by SylvanWitch



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Double Penetration, Multi, Threesome, Trapped, spoilers for "Parting Shot"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Engines Mack understood.  People?  People were crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monkey Wrench

**Author's Note:**

> For the delightful daria234 over on LJ, who answered my call for prompts with: _Agents of SHIELD, Mack/any or Mack/any/any or Fitz/Will or other slash pairing, having sex because the baddies have trapped them for the time being and there's not much else to do (or any other sex on a mission fic)_. I'm not sure this is exactly what you had in mind, hon, but I hope you like it anyway. Thanks for giving me the chance to write it. I had a LOT of fun!

Mack hated goodbyes.

 

No matter what else he did in his life, Mack was a mechanic.  He fixed things so that they’d last longer.  He knew how parts fit together to make a beautiful, working whole.  In his hands, things didn’t fall apart.

 

People, though…they imploded, exploded, faded away, or disappeared without a trace in no pattern that he’d ever been able to predict.  Just when he thought people were simple, easy to take apart and put back together, they’d go and do something complicated, something self-sacrificial or noble or cheap or foolish…and then he’d be back to staring at the untidy inner workings of a human mind, and he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.

 

Engines he got.  People were crazy.

 

Take, for instance, the two people he had considered his best friends in S.H.I.E.L.D.:  Bobbi and Hunter.

 

From the outside, past the bickering, which was really just noise, their relationship was a well-oiled machine, the probability of their words and actions based on a longstanding pattern of behavior.  Sure, they sometimes fought like wildcats, and sometimes their silence spoke of missed connections and failure to spark, but most of the time, they were completely predictable as a couple.

 

Until they weren’t at all.

 

And Mack might have avoided the heavier sorrow of this particular goodbye, a second shot raised in solidarity with these two people who meant more to him than he could define or explain, except for the memory of the time that they had completely surprised him.

 

Mack could have understood if they’d been drunk; he knew the kind of combustion alcohol fueled in people’s passions.

 

Maybe if they’d only narrowly escaped certain and ugly death, he could have shrugged his shoulders and said, “Sure, I get it.”

 

But it was a routine mission gone pear-shaped in a familiar, not-at-all-unlikely way, and they hadn’t so much as exchanged a dirty look with HYDRA, who weren’t on the scene, as far as Mack had been able to tell.

 

No, they’d gotten trapped in the WWII underground bunker because somewhere topside Daisy had gotten overconfident with the shake-and-bake routine she had going with her boyfriend.

 

Comms were useless, and by the looks of the dusty equipment entombed in the bunker, it would take more than Mack’s considerable skills—hell, more than Fitz’s, he thought disconsolately—to ever get that signal up and running again.

 

So, for now, they were out of options.

 

Eventually, once the excitement they were missing out on up above died down, someone would notice that the three of them were missing.  Until then…

 

“Well, I guess we could play truth or dare,” Hunter suggested, not even slightly cowed by Bobbi’s withering look in response.

 

“What?  It’s a legitimate and time-honored way to pass the time when options are otherwise limited.”

 

“First,” Bobbi answered, her right index finger ticking off her points on the spread fingers of her left hand.  “We aren’t even a little drunk.”

 

Hunter opened his mouth to rejoin, but she cut him off with a louder, “Second, the last time we played truth or dare, you ended up promising an unspecified favor to an Armenian gang leader, who, I would point out, has yet to collect.”

 

“Well, sure, when you put it tha—.”

 

“And third:  Istanbul.”  She lingered on the sibilant until even Hunter had the grace to drop his eyes, shoulders coming up a little sheepishly at her adamant expression.

 

Mack was only human, so he’d love to have known what had happened is Istanbul.  But he wasn’t stupid enough to ask, and judging by the heat in Bobbi’s eyes, he really wouldn’t like the answer.

 

Hunter turned to Mack as if to appeal to his good nature, but Mack held both of his hands up in the universal sign of appeasement:  “No way I’m getting involved in this.  Forget it.”

 

“Fine,” Hunter pouted.  “You two come up with something better to do while we wait.  By the feel of things, it’s going to be a while.”  He settled onto the floor with his back to a defunct operations station, pointedly ignoring them both.

 

The earth overhead was still shaking intermittently, dust sifting down on them in a steady scrim.

 

Mack sighed.  It seemed like Hunter was right about the duration of their ordeal, anyway.

 

“We could try to build a transmitter,” Bobbie suggested, picking delicately through the remains of a communications panel, which had puked its colorful wires in every direction.

 

Mack’s snort turned into a sneeze as she disturbed yet more dust.

 

“Sorry, but I don’t think so this time, Bobbi.”

 

Bobbi threw up her own hands in mute surrender and sat gracefully down next to her husband, whose smirk screamed, _I told you so_ , even though the mouth itself was silent.

 

Mack chose a console across from theirs and sat down too. 

 

“Think we should conserve the batteries?” Bobbi asked a few minutes later, indicating the scope-mounted LEDs on their guns.

 

“Should last us until we’re out of here,” Mack answered.  Hunter snorted meaningfully.  “But just in case, it couldn’t hurt to turn two of the three off, use one at a time.”

 

Beyond the single, sepia beam of the light they left on, shadows hulked and loomed, and Mack found himself transported viscerally back to San Juan, darkness both real and metaphoric edging in on him.  He took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his hands to try to release some of the irrational anxiety.

 

He must have been pretty far gone into the flashback because he never heard Bobbi move, didn’t know she was crouching beside him until he felt her light touch on his knee.

 

“You okay, Mack?”

 

He opened his eyes, focusing on her face.  This close, he could see the way dirt had been captured in the fine lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, the way a patina of dirt had dusted her hair to a flatter gold.  He stifled the urge to brush it away, to ground himself in touch, but she must have seen something in his eyes because she settled more firmly on her heels and squeezed his knee meaningfully.

 

“It’s okay, you know.  We all have nightmares.”

 

He imagined that hers tasted of cold sweat and peeling paint, of hot blood and lost chances.

 

“Yeah, mate, I myself can’t stand the smell of Turkish coffee.  Makes me hurl, every time.”

 

Mack saw that Hunter’s face was an easy mask, something warm in his eyes that might have been sympathy but had nothing of pity in him.  Bobbi’s expression was harder to make out, and Mack felt suddenly uncomfortable with his reaction to her proximity.  He didn’t want her to move away, to stop touching him, and he didn’t have any right to feel that way.

 

“I’m good,” he lied, but for a sometimes spy, he was a terrible liar, and by the tiny shake of her head, Bobbi thought so to.

 

Without any warning, she moved from her crouch, swinging one long leg over his thighs and settling in his lap facing him, hands braced on his broad shoulders.

 

Instinct brought his hands up to span her waist, and he couldn’t tell who was more shocked by the way he could actually hold all of her between his palms—Mack himself or Bobbi, who stilled in his embrace like she thought he might hurt her.

 

He searched her face, completely at a loss with what to do about this unexpected gift, and found that she was smiling at him, nothing of fear and everything of the warmer emotions radiating from her confident gaze.

 

His eyes flicked to Hunter’s, which were watching them with an avid, hungry look.

 

Bobbi tapped him on the chin, bringing his eyes back to her face.

 

“I don’t need his permission,” she said by way of explanation, waiting until Mack acknowledged her words with a slow nod before adding, “But I wouldn’t mind his help.”

 

Mack felt his eyes widen at the suggestion and couldn’t help but look Hunter’s way once more.

 

Hunter shrugged and grinned, hands up at his sides as if to say, _What are you going to do?  Give the lady what she wants._

 

Mack nodded again, brain off-line, body on fire with the heat of Bobbi in his lap and the look in Hunter’s eyes as he stalked across the floor on his hands and knees, a strange grace in what should have been ridiculous.

 

“Where do you want me, Bob?” Hunter asked, setting the pattern for the entire exchange:  One or the other of them would wonder what came next, and they’d defer to Bobbi, who’d direct them.

 

As a mechanic, Mack understood the physics of intimacy, even with extra parts included in the equation.  He couldn’t have predicted he’d end up naked and breathless with his two best friends, but he wasn’t behind the times in figuring out the basics.

 

Ladies first, he’d learned early and repeated often, so he urged Bobbi up astride his face and went to work with his tongue, which left another, interested part of him open for the engulfing heat of Hunter’s talented mouth.  Mack was distracted from his work for a long, long moment as he adjusted to the incredible sensation of Hunter sucking him down, and then he swallowed some of Bobbi’s sweetness and worked on making her scream.

 

When she rose off of him with shaking legs and slid down his body, Mack expected Hunter to switch places with her, but instead, Mack found his knees urged further apart so that Hunter could kneel behind Bobbi.  She bent forward and braced her hands on Mack’s strong chest, her flushed face scant inches above his own, where she watched his expression as Hunter took Mack in hand and guided him steadily to Bobbi’s wet entrance.

 

He understood only at the moment of its happening what Hunter intended then, understood it by the way Bobbi’s mouth opened in a soundless, “Oh!”, the way her eyes shuttered and her breath came in ragged gasps as Hunter snugged his own hard cock up against Mack’s and guided them both home.

 

Mack had to clench his teeth and shut his eyes, had to go rigid to keep from coming at the dual sensation of Bobbi’s clenching, wet heat and the impossible tight slide of Hunter against him. 

 

He felt Bobbi relax into the stretch, felt her shift her hips in a shallow, circular motion that lit him up from the inside, echoed Hunter’s moan with his own, deeper vibration, and fell into a sharp, jerky rhythm that drove Hunter against him inside of Bobbi.

 

Mack squinted up through sweat-tears as Bobbi threw her head back.  Hair clung to her temples.  One errant curl was caught in the corner of her mouth.  Hunter had one hand braced against Mack’s thigh and the other wrapped around his wife, tweaking a nipple as he groaned in her ear and his movements grew more erratic.

 

Mack struggled to take a full breath, to piston his hips a little harder as he watched Hunter coming apart with a soundless shout.

 

Mack reached between them and slid a finger along Bobbi’s folds, and she shrieked and shuddered violently, clenching around him in a way that made Mack grunt and thrust and spill, the final motion made easier by their combined spend.

 

He was so far gone in the aftereffects of intense pleasure that he didn’t even mind when their combined weight pinned him to the uncomfortable concrete floor.

 

He did mind, however, the distant, definitive rapping that resolved itself into Morse code and suggested that they were about to be rescued.

 

He stroked a big hand down Hunter’s still trembling flank, and Hunter raised his head far enough to plant a kiss on Mack’s wet mouth.

 

“C’mon, love.  Wouldn’t want the cavalry to find us in flagrante delicto,” Hunter said then, climbing first to his knees and then, rather unsteadily, regaining his feet.  Mack felt a ridiculous surge of pride at Hunter’s lack of coordination, knowing he’d had some part in it.

 

Bobbi made an unladylike sound that suggested what she thought of Hunter’s observation, but she pushed herself up on Mack’s chest anyway, stopping long enough to follow her husband’s kiss with one of her own.  Mack traced a finger along her damp cheek and pulled the curl from her mouth, tucking it behind her ear.

 

She rose far more fluidly than her husband, pausing to stretch like a great cat, the lithe lines of her body stirring something inside of Mack despite his incipient, post-coital exhaustion.

 

“That,” he said, levering himself up and beginning the search for his own clothes, “was way better than truth or dare.”

 

Hunter laughed outright, a loose, happy sound that made Mack grin back at him in return.  Bobbi, already dressed and not a hair out of place, batted her eyes innocently.

 

“I have no idea what you mean,” she said, ruining the entire act with a salacious wink.

 

Mack paused, shirt in his hands, and looked at the two of them with enough gravity that they both stopped and gave him their full attention.

 

“This isn’t going to throw a monkey wrench into things, is it?”  He was suddenly afraid that he’d broken what they had beyond any hope of repair.

 

Something softened in Hunter’s face.  “No, mate.  This isn’t a monkey wrench, it’s a—.”

 

“Tune-up,” Bobbi finished, giving him a wide open, genuine smile. 

 

“Sure,” Hunter added a little uncertainly.  “Topping up the, uh, fluid levels and uh, checking the hoses and whatnot.”

 

Mack barked a laugh at the way Bobbi socked her husband in the shoulder.

 

“Shut up,” she said affectionately.  To Mack, she said, “We’re good, Mack.  This is something we’ve wanted for a while.”

 

“Yeah, mate.  Just glad you wanted it too.”

 

Before he could answer, there was the controlled explosion of a targeted charge and Daisy was saying, “Everybody alright in there?”

 

The three exchanged a private smile and answered, “We’re all good!”

 

And they had been.

 

Until Bobbi and Hunter had had to give up their lives so that the rest of them could go on with their own, leaving Mack alone on a barstool raising a second, solitary shot, eyes wet with unshed tears and mouth full of things he should have said.

 

Mack hated goodbyes.


End file.
